


Best Mistake Ever

by SenshineKkaebsong



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - No Monsters, Billy has a vendetta against an old lady, Christmas, Christmas eve shopping disaster, Domestic Fluff, Family, Future Fic, M/M, Slice of Life, Soft Boys
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-18
Updated: 2020-12-18
Packaged: 2021-03-10 19:29:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,549
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28152402
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SenshineKkaebsong/pseuds/SenshineKkaebsong
Summary: "Wait," he says when his mouth finally catches up, "that means you didn't get a ham?!" His voice squeaks a little at the end of the sentence but he's too messed up to be embarrassed. Christmas is nothing without a fucking ham!
Relationships: Billy Hargrove/Steve Harrington, Steve Harrington & Dustin Henderson
Comments: 4
Kudos: 39





	Best Mistake Ever

**Author's Note:**

> Story and title inspired by Richard Scarry's 'The Best Mistake Ever!' I used to have the book when I was a kid. It was absolutely one of my favourite reads.

"Fuck that old hag." Billy sneers as he bursts through the door, arms laden with canvas bags that he unceremoniously dumps onto the tiny countertop. Something clatters against the tile but it's not alarming enough for Steve to turn away from the grilled cheese sandwiches he's trying to crisp up in the frying pan. Billy's boots continue to stomp around the cramped space, his breath hard and fast like he's about to burst, the very picture of a man-child throwing a tantrum. "Told you she's a fucking bitch. When she finally kicks the bucket, Hendrickson is going straight to hell." 

Steve cracks a smile at that. The old woman from the ground floor seems to have a vendetta against Billy for no reason other than his existence. He can sympathise but it's fun to pretend he has no idea what the guy is talking about when he complains about her cutting glares and toothless sneers. "What did she do this time?" He asks, sliding the toasted bread onto a plate next to the stove and turning it off before facing Billy, spatula still in hand, arms crossed over his chest. 

The blond stops rooting through the bags like a madman, icy blue eyes burning holes into Steve who pouts a little, stares back at him with a wide, innocent look even if he's dying to laugh. "She fuckin' stole the last holiday ham from right under me, Stevie! Bitch elbowed me in the ribs! Grabbed up the motherfucking ham and ran like it was a hundred-meter sprint." 

"Pft, okay, sure." Steve cracks a smile, shoulders shaking in silent amusement. It only fuels Billy's fire. "Poor old Mrs Hendrickson pulled a wrestling move on big bad Billy Hargrove to steal the last ham? That's hilarious." A chuckle escapes his lips at the very thought of the seventy-something-year-old woman besting Billy in a Christmas Eve fracas. But as soon as the vision comes, so does the dawning horror of the situation, and his mirth dissipates, jaw dropping. Billy sees when it happens, a satisfied smirk crawling up his face as he leans back victoriously, taking in Steve's increasingly panicked features. 

"Wait," he says when his mouth finally catches up, "that means you  _ didn't _ get a ham?!" His voice squeaks a little at the end of the sentence but he's too messed up to be embarrassed. Christmas is nothing without a fucking ham!

"Well, I wouldn't say that. I got ham  _ slices _ ." He snickers, leaning over Steve to grab a sandwich from the plate. 

"Billy." Steve whispers, mortified. "Did you check-"

"The butcher's? Sure did; the two of them, actually. Nada."

"Billy-"

"Oh, I'm not done yet." His smile becomes even more twisted as he moans around the sandwich, stretching out the tense moment. Steve's stomach sinks further and further with every passing second, tongue licking over his dry, dry lips. "I didn't get anything _ at all  _ from the list." He announces like a punchline to a joke. All Steve gets is the metaphorical punch. This is a nightmare. This is a disaster. Absolute… he doesn't remember the word Robin taught him last week, but it's definitely that. 

"Then," he turns to the pile of canvas bags, eyebrows scrunching up. "What the fuck are these!?" 

"That's the best part." Billy waggles his brows. He reaches over for Steve's sandwich but gets his hand slapped away. "Ow, fucking bitch. Grocery shopping on the Eve of Christmas makes a guy hungry, man. You should see the roads. The people are rabid. Fucking Hendrickson, for example." He pouts, rubbing his hand.

"Billy, what's in the goddamn bags." Steve deadpans, hands on his hips, resorting to his default soccer mom mode. If the kids were here, they'd be laughing. Steve kind of wants to cry. 

"Well," Billy drawls, turning to continue his riffling. "Couldn't get potatoes so I bought potato chips!" He holds up a few family-size bags of Lays. "Got two types of dip, too, I'm not a heathen. Oh, and there weren't any real cranberries or that tin monstrosity so I bought raspberry jam? They're the same thing, right?" Okay, Steve's definitely about to cry. Nevermind the fact that Billy said  _ real _ cranberries like it implied there were fake ones out there. He'd planned on making his nonna's special recipe. 

"There's some bread in there, too, but not the fancy kind you asked for." Billy points at the other bags. “I actually did get the cheese you wanted but it's sliced, just like the ham. Threw in some turkey too cuz the shitheads can be picky and it goes with your whole theme." He snorts. "Oh, and the only soda they had was the disgusting orange-flavoured shit but I bought it just in case. Ever heard of Milo?"

"What?" Steve blinks blankly, trying not to implode. They couldn't have Thanksgiving this year so he'd meticulously planned on mashing the two holidays together and making it a special event. Even the kids were coming up to visit. He's trying really hard not to breakdown but it's fucking impossible, watching his entire plan crumble right before him. God, he should have done his shopping last week but he was too busy pulling extra shifts to be able to afford what was supposed to be a  _ fantastic  _ holiday meal. 

"Milo." Billy laughs. "There was no hot chocolate so the nice guy at the grocery helped me pick out a chocolate powder called Milo. I think it's Spanish. Had a friend back in Cali called Milo and his family was from Cuba. Nice people." 

"Bill." Steve doesn't recognise his own voice anymore, barely above a defeated whisper. It's too late to call off the dinner. The kids will be here in the morning. 

“Couldn’t find any asparagus or broccoli but there were lettuce and tomatoes. I figured since at least one of them was green  _ and _ they’re both vegetables, I’d get them too.” He finishes with jazz hands because Steve absolutely  _ hates  _ it.

“Fuck you.” He sniffs, feeling heat pooling beneath his eyelids. “Tomato’s not even a vegetable. It’s a fucking  _ fruit _ .” He shoves Billy’s shoulder hard and stomps right past him, slamming the bedroom door shut and collapsing face-first into the bed. The sheets need to be changed, it smells like both his and Billy’s colognes, sweat and sex. It’s kind of gross but he finds a small bit of comfort in the combined scents that helps to recede the impending panic attack just a little. Steve lets the hot tears soak into his pillow, feeling like a failure in even the most mundane things. The kids are gonna hate this. They’re gonna regret coming here instead of spending the holidays with their families and it’s all his fault. If he’d just listened to everyone when they told him to get his shopping done early, he wouldn’t be in this pathetic situation. He’s ruined Christmas.

By the time the door creaks open, Steve’s fully exhausted himself mentally and physically from tears and all the self-deprecating thoughts bouncing around in his head. The bed dips at his left and he realises he’s on Billy’s side but it’s too late to move now as a warm, heavy hand comes to rest on his waist, Billy’s body snuggling up from behind like a solid wall of muscle against his back and legs. His breath is warm and a little sour from beer but it loosens the tension in Steve’s shoulder with every little puff against his neck. “I have a plan.” He speaks lowly, a soothing cadence rumbling against his back.

Steve scoffs and rolls his eyes.  _ Nothing  _ can salvage this disaster. 

“You gotta listen to me, sweetheart. I’m serious, we both fucked up, not just you. Hendrickson aside, that is.” This time, he laughs softly when he says it and Steve’s mouth ticks upward just a little. “I came up with a plan and we’re gonna save Christmas dinner.” 

“Billy, it can’t be fixed.” He sighs, voice scratchy and raw. 

Billy scoffs like he personally takes offence to that. Of course, leave it to his boyfriend to see everything as a challenge. Steve’s too wrung out to fight him any further. “Look, I let you get it out of your system. It’s been three hours.” Steve blinks. Has it really been that long? Well fuck. “But I’m gonna need you at a hundred percent for this to work, baby. Are we gonna fix this or what?” 

It takes a bit of awkward shuffling but he finally manages to turn to the guy, taking in the serious crease between his eyebrows and the gentle smile on his lips. Those magnetic blue eyes draw him in, Billy’s so beautiful that Steve always feels inferior in comparison. Billy’s the smart one, the one with all the plans and life-saving ideas and Steve’s the one who blindly follows. Will always follow no matter what. He leans forward and kisses him, a soft press of lips, eyes fluttering shut. The arm around him squeezes him in tighter and he hums, pulling away a little. “Okay, tell me what’s your plan.” 

  
  


Steve blows on the spoon and tastes the tomato-raspberry concoction they’d made with the fresh  _ fruit  _ and jam. It tastes tangy-sweet and not at all like cranberry sauce but it’s good. He rests it on the back burner and checks on the bread slices toasting in the oven. Billy deposits a bowl of thinly chiffonade spinach leaves that he’d somehow managed to charm off the lovely couple several doors down. It smells like good olive oil, the one his nonna used, and fresh garlic that Billy had sauteed it in with salt and black pepper. He kisses Steve’s cheek and moves around him as the bread comes out on sheet pans to cool on the countertop. The kids will be here any second and they’re just about ready to start putting the sandwiches together; bread, a slice of cheese, meat, more cheese, more meat, spinach and another slice of bread with the tomato-raspberry jam slathered on. They work quietly and efficiently and Steve keeps eyeing the cake that he’d baked this morning but had nothing to frost it with. It’s one of those Betty Crocker box cakes that had been hiding at the back of the cupboard and was two months past expiration but he’d tasted the batter and he’s still alive so it shouldn’t be a problem, right? 

Just as they’re done emptying the chips into large bowls, the doorbell rings and Steve jumps, swallowing hard, turning to Billy with wide eyes. 

The blond looks at him with a questioning brow. “Want me to get it?” 

Steve almost says yes but shakes his head at the last minute. “No, it’s fine. I’ll do it.”

“Hey,” Billy grabs him by the elbow and gently tugs him forward until their chests collide. “You did amazing and I’m so fucking proud of you. The kids are here for you, not the dinner, but they’re going to enjoy it all the same cuz it’s fuckin’ gourmet and delicious. There’s nothing to worry about.” 

“Th-thanks.” Steve mutters, wrapping his arms around Billy’s shoulders and letting his boyfriend draw him in for a tight embrace. He feels Billy’s lips leave barely-there presses against his hair and temples and sinks into the feeling, only drawing back when there’s pounding at the door and what sounds like Max cursing like a sailor. Sometimes it’s a wonder how she and Billy aren’t biologically related. Rolling his eyes, he squares his shoulders and plasters a smile on his face that only gets brighter when Billy kisses him hard and squeezes his ass, before answering the door. 

  
  


“Y’know, I was pretty sceptical about the whole Christmas slash Thanksgiving dinner thing.” Dustin tells him, tongue made even more loose by the vodka and orange soda Billy whipped up for everyone during dinner and spiked Milo for dessert.

“Is that so?” Steve glances sideways at the guy whom he’d basically adopted as his own little brother almost a decade ago. He’s a college man now, as are the others, but it’s impossible not to think of them as anything but his kids. He’d be offended but he’s riding a pretty solid high from the response to their sandwiches and party snacks. Even the generic cake was devoured before he could get a slice (and no one died!). Billy at least offered him a bite of his own. 

“Yep.” Dusting slurs, smiling all tooth and gum. “I mean, we know you can cook, right? But like, dude, you’re so amb- ambi- ambitious that you sometimes screw yourself over. But let me tell you,” he points, the liquid in his cup sloshing dangerously. Steve reaches out and plucks it from his hand, resting it on the coffee table with the empty plates and bowls piled there. “This was the best unorthodox Christmas ever.” 

“Yeah!” Max yells, prompting everyone else to cheer, raising their fists and cups in the air. Steve smiles, looks across the room to where Billy’s leaning against the wall, arms crossed over his chest and a bright grin stretched across his pink lips. 

“Thanks, guys.” He laughs. 

“I say we have Christmas here next year too!” Dustin screeches.

Steve opens his mouth to immediately protest but Billy’s faster, quick to shut it down before it becomes a fully-formed idea. “Fuck no. Nuh-uh. Not happening, assholes.” He sticks his tongue out when Mike flips him the bird. 

“I gotta agree with Billy. This was great and all, and I love you guys to death, but I think we’re good for a while. Next time one of you dweebs can host.” 

“Steve,” Lucas sighs, shaking his head. “We’re broke college kids living in dorms. We can’t even cook.” 

“Speak for yourself.” Jane, Will and Max chorus, bursting into a fit of surprised laughter at their synchronisation. Steve knows Mike can cook too because Nancy made it her job to teach him at least the basic stuff, but he keeps his mouth shut, sparing the kid for now. 

“Right, so between the three of you, I’m sure you can whip up something at someone’s house with your parents’ help.” He nods and Billy hums in approval. 

After various grunts of approval, they finally settle in for the night. Steve goes around picking up stray wrapping paper and tape while Billy gets to work on the dishes. He lets everyone choose their sleeping arrangements. The options are limited anyway - it’s the living room floor or the couches - and joins the blond to help dry and pack away the wares. Once it’s clean, they leave the kids to drunkenly and sleepily argue over something or the other and retreat to their room, pulling off their nice sweaters and jeans which go on the floor in a messy heap and turning off the lights before jumping into bed. 

“You good?” Billy asks, fiddling with the thin gold necklace he’d gifted Steve in the wee hours of this morning. It falls down his collar bones beautifully, intricate links glinting prettily against his pale skin. 

“Mm,” Steve hums, stifling a yawn. “I think this was the best mistake we ever made.”

“Damn right it was.” Billy says. Steve hears the smile in those words and closes his eyes, leaning closer into the warmth. 


End file.
